Unconditional
by nancystagerat
Summary: As is the same with anyone's life, certain moments stand out more than the rest. A series of 50 vignettes following the relationship between Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. pre OotP through DH. Will be spoilery.
1. Motion

1._ Motion_

Giving neither rhyme nor reason for his sudden burst of spontaneity, Remus grabs her hand and sweeps her to her feet.

"Dance with me?"

"Do you _want_ your toes broken?"

He loves the way Tonks startles back from him, her forehead moulded into skeptical wrinkles with the raise of those bright pink eyebrows. She glances down at the heavy work boots still on her feet and then back to his face, smiling wryly. Though, he notes, she hasn't released his hand.

The Marauder in him loves the shiver he feels race down her neck as he leans in to whisper against her ear.

"Humor me."


	2. Change

2._ Change_

"Tonks, I can't let you. You know it's too dangerous." His voice, heavy with so much fatigue and exasperated worry, is almost enough to make her abandon the argument. Almost. His hands running gently down her arms, lingering at her wrists, are enough incentive to keep up the fight.

She hates to see him a victim like this; he's been with her long enough to know that much.

"How could I live with myself if, Merlin forbid, I do something once I'm transformed to get you—"

"Then I'll change myself!"

The look in her eyes is at once so hurt and determined and desperate it makes the lines deepen around his own. And makes him that much more certain he can never be anywhere near her at the full moon.

Her hands curl themselves against his chest as he draws her close against him. When she speaks again, the words are subdued. She's grabbing at straws now. They both know it. "Becoming an animal can't be so different from morphing into another person, can it? All I'll have to do is—"

"'Dora."

Her name is soft, almost a plea on his lips. And that one word makes painfully clear that all her arguing has only made him worry more about this week's full moon.


	3. Attention

3. _Attention_

She finds herself watching him far too often to be normal. At Order meetings, when she realizes she's missed some important scrap of information, her thoughts lingering on the graceful way he holds his wand. At dinner, when her name has to be called three times before she'll hear it, preoccupied by the sound of his laughter at Sirius' sarcastic jokes. On watch, when she has nothing else but a mug of cold coffee to occupy her thoughts.

As far as she can tell, Remus hasn't noticed. And as of yet, she's not sure whether or not she's disappointed at the fact.


	4. Power

**A/N: Well, this drabble begins my take on major things the books left out. It's also the beginnings of my take coughartisticliscencecough on why Remus eventually decides to leave 'Dora before his mission with the werewolves in HBP. I'd especially love to hear what you think about this one--like whether or not I'm totally daft. Much love to my readers/reviewers, and enjoy!**

* * *

4. _Power_

It's months before she's able to stay with him when he transforms. Long months of secrets, of hiding how she practices the morph that will keep her safe in his company. It's frustrating. At times, it's painful. At others, she finds herself stuck between forms, and it takes the longest minutes of her life to calm down enough to morph herself back human.

But she succeeds. She practices until the animal form flows to her as naturally as her own.

The night before the moon, he finds in their bedroom a white she-wolf curled atop the sheets, her pink-tipped tail wagging at the sight of him. And the tears she sees filling his eyes hold a power over her stronger than any magic ever could.


	5. God

5. _God_

When he wakes after that first full moon with her, he panics.

He can't remember anything. He can't feel her beside him. Fear whispers past the silence in his ears; what if her canine form wasn't enough to…?

_Merlin, what if I—?_

The mere thought is enough to launch his back upright from the floor. Wide, anxious eyes sweep the room around him for some sign —

—that he finds in the pile of his clothes lying beside him, and the nudge of a cool, damp nose against his back.

When Tonks morphs back he slides his arms around her and thanks whatever god will listen for the waves of warm relief under his skin.


	6. Wash

6. _Wash_

Even the hot water isn't enough to burn the memory of him from her skin. She draws in a hiss through her teeth, but lets the scalding drops fall where they will regardless, as if the shower can make her forget the heat of his fingers tracing her face, her arms, her scars.

The remembered ghost of his touch leaves fresh scars the werewolf in him could never give.

At least, she thinks, the water on her face keeps her from feeling the tears.


	7. Torn

7. _Torn_

"Well, aren't we just the little housewitch today." she snarks, but lets him take the needle and thread from her sore fingers anyway.

He flashes a smile that never fails to send pleasant shivers down her spine even as it makes her blood boil, his voice brisk while his eyes all but scream sly victory.

"I just can't stand to watch you bleed all over your work robes anymore. Hate to have you ruin them when the hole is so small." The smile widens. She knows what that means. "Though, if you hadn't _tripped_ in the _first_ place…"

Tonks can't keep her exaggerated scowl from turning itself up at the corners. "Had I still the needle in my paws, I'd have poked you with it by now." But she holds up one severely pricked index finger, and pokes Remus anyway.


	8. Precious

8. _Precious_

Their first kiss was awkward. She remembers faces angled the wrong way, and noses bumping instead. She remembers sheepish laughter, the blushes and embarrassment before they tried again. She remembers her breath catching in her throat when, finally, he touched his lips to hers.

And she'll never forget his shy smile, tasting of the promises he left against her mouth.


	9. Sing

9. _Sing_

She sings to herself while she's working, he's noticed; while she's writing up a report for the Order, puzzling over the Daily Prophet crossword, choosing her outfit first thing in the morning. Occasionally he'll catch snatches of the song under her breath, usually whatever Weird Sisters madness had been spouting from the wireless the day before. But every so often the words will be softer, and her voice will lilt through the melodyin an easy flow he'd be correct to assume she's never even noticed for herself.

He hears her this way in his dreams, the only thing that helps him sleep when every day despairs that she's not there. When every day reminds him how he's pushed that voice away.


	10. Safe

10. _Safe_

_I should never have let you love me._

_I'm not worth it._

_I'm too old, to scarred, too haunted._

_I was a fool to think I'd ever deserve you._

_I can't give you a stable life. _

_I'll never be able protect you from myself._

_I'm too dangerous._

_I'll only hurt you in the end._

His arguments play themselves over and over in her head, trying to piece themselves into something she can make herself believe. But no matter how she cuts them up and tapes the bits together, she can't change that he's never made her feel anything but safe.


	11. Wild

**A/N: I'm not totally satisfied with the flow of this chap--any ideas how I can fix it?**

* * *

11. _Wild_

"'Dora, where in God's name…?"

"Scotland."

He looks at her with raised eyebrows. "Any particular reason you've side-alonged me to _Scotland_?"

She dips her head, turquoise fringe falling in disarray before her face.

"I thought that, well, since I can…morph with you now, and with the wolfsbane potion…area's completely uninhabited…"

"Tonks…?"

The question he makes from her name is just the nudge she needs to stop acting like a schoolgirl and get to the point. "I was wondering if…if you thought it a safe enough place, that is, that next moon you might let me…" her voice is almost a whisper, "…run with you. Like James and Sirius used to."

She wants to know that part of him, to bring back a bit of what he had before he lost his best friends. Most of all she wants to ease the moons that make him feel less than the man he is.

He knows this, somehow, and though his smile holds his quiet thanks, underneath his eyes are anxious.

He knows he can't. It's far too big a risk.

And yet…he wants this. He wants it as badly as she does.

"We'll see."


	12. Name

12. _Name_

"_Don't_ call me Nymphadora, Remus!"

She shudders at the sound of her given name, but he catches the smirk and the exasperated roll of her eyes she may or may not have meant him to see.

"It's Tonks."

She shakes purple fringe into her face, an attempt to hide the blush creeping up her neck, but her short hair fails even to hide the smile on her lips. He flicks his own smile her way, and decides on the spot to call her Nymphadora as often as he can, if it means he'll get to see that expression again.


	13. Shadow

13. _Shadow_

He'd been careful and thorough about breaking off his relationship with her, as he always was with everything he did. He'd thought that if he made it clear she would be safer alone, if he left her no hope for a future with him, then that hope couldn't cause her more pain than his leaving her already would.

He'd been wrong. He sees that now, in the careful way she keeps her distance, in how her eyes just glance, guarded, in his direction, in the limp, mousy tresses framing her face, what his "clean break" hath wrought. He sees it in the shadows on her face.

_Shadows_, he notes, horror and shame twisting like knives in his gut,_ that were never there before_.

He sees that for months, she's been hoping and hopeless and hurting so badly, she doesn't dare believe he's even here. Even though he's relented. Even though she knows he's loved her all along. Even though he's reaching for her now.

She lets him brush the hair out of her face, lets his fingers skim her cheek as he tucks the wayward strands behind her ear. And in that small forgiveness, she lets him hope.


	14. Million

14. _Million_

For the longest time he'd thought love made him leave her, when all he'd done was use it as an excuse.

Her eyes holding his gaze are dark and pained and yet, somehow, insistent. "Remus, I've told you a million times…"

She trails off, and love is what speaks in everything she's left unsaid.

_I know what you are. _

_I know what I've gotten myself into._

_I know it'll be hard. _

_I want you anyway._

He's seen and felt and returned the love he sees in those eyes now. And now, love is what makes him see that doing what's right doesn't always mean doing what's best for her.


	15. Promise

15. _Promise_

One evening she raises her face to meet the kiss Remus means for her forehead, smiling up into his tired brown eyes before sleep eases over her thoughts. She dreams of waking, as she has been for the past few months, as she will be for the rest of her life, tucked under his chin, and her stomach flutters at the thought of his hands resting on her slightly swollen belly.

The next day there are no kisses, no easy sleep at night. She wakes alone, and where her husband should have been only his ring remains. A note lies underneath it, a few scrawled words that tell her nothing his very absence hasn't spoken for itself.

Numb shock saps the color from her skin, and before she can do anything about it her hair is left the same, pink leeched away into a lifeless brown. Days pass before she can even possess her mind enough to cry, let alone make any futile attempt to morph.

But when the tears do come, his voice is what echoes in her sobs.

'_Til death do us part_.


	16. Natural

16. _Natural_

She stares appraisingly at her reflection, hair color changing (_pink, blonde, auburn, green, back to pink again_) as often as she blinks, analyzing each shade in the mirror. With a huff, she gives up and slides into bed beside him, a hint of chagrin in her eyes at the amused smile twinkling in his.

"Well, _you_ decide, then. What color should I do for the—" she stops herself, waiting for her stomach to quit doing Wronski Feints down to her toes, "-- _our _-- wedding?"

Remus props himself up on one elbow, and she can feel his gaze traveling over her face. "I was actually going to ask…if you'd wear your _own_ hair color."

Her eyebrows knit, taken aback by his suggestion. Well, _that_ certainly wasn't the shade she'd have chosen.

"Come to think of it, love, I don't remember you ever even showing me your natural color," he muses, and her heart sinks.

"I have," she says, tangling her fingers together, "I just…never told you."

Now it's his turn to startle back when she breathes deep and turns her hair that too-familiar mousy, ashen brown.

"_This_ is my natural color."


	17. Hands

17. _Hands_

Though he's seen many sides of Nymphadora Tonks, tonight she graces him with one he doubts even she knew she had. Tonight she couldn't be farther from the bubbly lack of poise he's gotten so used to.

He tries to watch her face, drawn in careful concentration, bottom lip captured by her teeth as her hands knead firm, careful circles on his back. But those slender, callused hands work a magic all their own, and compel his eyes to close and disobey his brain.

All he can do is feel her there, and marvel how the hands that spilled his tea on him that morning are the only thing that's ever chased the moon's ache from his bones.


	18. King

18. _King_

"Hey, Kingsley, can you hang on a sec—!"

She overextends her reach for his sleeve and trips, but before she feels the blooming ache that means she's hit the floor a hand closes, steadying, around her arm. As soon as he deems her able to keep herself upright, the senior Auror shakes his head and smiles, letting her go to shrug into his coat. Tonks shakes mousy locks from her face and brushes herself off, an automatic response for one as well-acquainted with the floor as she.

"Thanks, Kingsley—hey, where're you off too so fast? Molly sent me to chase you down and ask if you need dinner, though I don't know where she got the idea that I'd be the best one for the job…"

"No thanks, for tonight," he replies, chuckling quietly. "'S my daughter's birthday."

The smile on the older man's face softens, and as he bids her goodnight, Tonks' heart constricts. She looks out at the waxing moon and wonders if she'll ever get the chance to smile like that for her own children.


	19. Breathe

**A/N: I'm posting this one early, just because tomorrow I move into school, and being as technologically impaired as I am, it may be a couple of days before I get my computer back up and running. I apologize in advance to anyone who reads this fic, and thank you all a hundred hundrd times for sticking with me!**

* * *

19. _Breathe_

Some nights, when the moon seems to loom too close for comfort, Remus lies awake to watch her as she sleeps. There is a kind of simple poetry to the way her hands lay curled upon the sheets, the graceless spill of her hair across the pillow. He supposes he could almost forgive the moon at times like these, when it seeps through the windows and edges her pale skin in liquid silver. It lends her an ethereal radiance, an elf-like aura so unlike her cheeky waking self, he has trouble believing she isn't just a lovely fleeting dream.

But the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her breath so unbelievably, impossibly _real_ on his skin, reminds him that the silver glow is no more than borrowed sunlight after all.


	20. Time

20. _Time_

He's never remembered time passing once the moon turns him. Whether or not he's had the Wolfsbane potion, whether or not Tonks morphs to stay with him, it's always the same; he wakes a man again with no idea if he's become a murderer in the night.

This time, however, as Remus drags his human consciousness to light, it seems the wolf's memory has seared itself into his brain.

_Scotland_

_The intoxicating scent filling his nose.__Muggles__A group of four, camping in the woods.__Tonks__ snarling, __hackles raised, __her small paws plant__ed firmly in his path. __Blood.__A dark stain seeping through white fur.__ Sharp c__laws swiped across his cheek. __A yelp.__H__uman scent__ slowly fading__back __from canine senses._

_Oh gods… _

_She'd driven him from the __muggles__, but he hadn't given up without a fight._

Horror settles like lead in his gut.

_H__e'd hurt her. _

She morphs herself human again and assures him she's perfectly alright. A scratch is nothing beside four lives kept safe. But the long red lines he sees raking down her back throw the merciless truth in his face, a fact that up 'til now he's tried his whole life to disprove.

_I a__m a monster. _


	21. Rain

21. _Rain_

"_Bugger_ it!"

Her exasperated shout rings through the almost-empty street as the very large, very garish lime green umbrella above them blows inside out, dousing them with cold spray. "I just _bought_ that, too…!"

She feels a flush rise in her cheeks the rain can't wash away as she turns her face from him, fussing with her wand and the wires, and hoping he doesn't see. "Now I've got you soaked—Merlin, I'm sorry, Remus—"

He catches her hand, but makes no move to right the umbrella as he pulls her to his side. "Actually, love," a Marauder's glint sparkles in those gold-brown eyes she loves, fringe sticking to his forehead, "I think I quite like this development."

A grin slides over her face, despite the cold shiver shooting up her spine; she isn't sure if it's thanks to the rain, or that scheming smile she wishes she could've seen him wear at school.

Or, now that she thinks of it, his voice murmuring "It gives me an excuse to help you dry off."

She gives a smirk of her own this time, broken umbrella forgotten as her fingers weave through his. "Mmmn, I'm looking forward to it."


	22. Stop

22. _Stop_

"For Merlin's sake, just _stop_ it!"

There is fire in her voice as she stands, shrugging off the hands that'd been smoothing salve over the wounds on her back. She clutches her shirt tight against her chest and steps back, as if to distance herself from the self-deprecating apologies he seems to think it necessary to repeat.

"I _know_ you're sorry, Remus, but you need to let it go! I'm sorry, too; gods, this whole mess is more my fault than yours! We'll never make the same mistake again. But I'll heal, alright? It takes more than a couple of scratches to—"

"But they're not 'just scratches,' Tonks!" His gaze is sharp and locks with hers, frustration boiling in the carefully controlled tone he throws back. "I could have torn your spinal cord! I could have killed you!"

"You also _could have_ killed four Muggles, and they're alive! Isn't that more important?"

He has no answer, and so he changes tracks, voice as bitter as the truth she doesn't see. "I hope I've proved to you now that I'm not the kind of man you should—"

"How many times do I have to say it? I love you, Remus. _I'm not afraid of you!_" She is shouting now, but there is no anger in the sound. Only the ache that rises every time he tries to hold her at arms' length.

She doesn't hear him murmur with an ache that matches hers.

"Maybe you should be."


	23. Blur

23. _Blur_

She sits bolt upright in bed, gasping for the breath that left with the dream. As she draws much-needed air back to her lungs, Remus stirs beside her.

"'Dora? What's—"

"Nightmare," she sighs, raking a hand through her already-mussed pink tresses. Her eyes are wide, as if forcing them open could chase away the images swimming, translucent, behind them.

_The Department of Mysteries.__A jet of red light.__ Cruel, jubilant peals of laughter at __Tonks__' own howl of pain as she falls into black oblivion. _

_Bellatrix_

But then she feels Remus' warm hands on her face and reality settles back like a blanket around her shoulders, chasing the chill from her spine. He says nothing, just settles his arms around her, her back against his chest. Only then does she let the darkness steal over her eyes, and mercifully, she does not dream.


	24. Book

24. _Book_

"I like that Horatio bloke," she says, curling closer against his side. "He's…his character seems the most real to me out of all of them."

Remus closes the dusty copy of _Hamlet_ on his lap, fingering the gold-embossed title on the spine. _Yes_, he thinks, hearing in her subdued tones what has echoed in his mind since they opened the book. _Horatio is quite realistic. __Too much so_.

"He reminds me of you, you know."

Her dark velvet eyes train themselves on his face, searching him for a reaction, and when he returns her gaze his smile is bitter. And as he reads those eyes, he knows she can see the wistful memories in his.

_"_Yes," he replies, and feels a kiss she means to comfort against his collarbone. "I've seen myself in him for far too long."

_The one left to remember after all his friends have died_.


	25. Harm

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I apologize for slacking off when I promised a drabble a day until all fifty were posted, but my computer decided to throw a temper tantrum and now refuses to let me online. The next couple of chapters will be brought to you courtesy of my college computer lab, probably earlier at night than I usually like to post, until the tech people decide to come back to their office on Monday. Until then, enjoy!**

* * *

25. _Harm_

He realizes, as his hands skim over her, that she has almost as many scars as he. And he tells her so.

A flush rises in her face, though not from embarrassment. "'Cept most of mine are from stupid accidents."

His hands upon her body move with new purpose now, tracing each scar, and when he does she tells him where they came from. Right hip, a botched Stealth and Tracking training session. Shoulder blades, tripping down the dormitory stairs in her third year. Left arm, burned while making tea for her mum at seven. The backs of both wrists, a particularly dangerous fifth-year Herbology lesson. A few she hasn't the slightest memory of where they came from, in various areas. And both legs, with assorted smaller slits in other places as well, from the Department of Mysteries.

He kisses each one, lets his lips linger on the thin pink lines his own claws had left against her back, and asks why she doesn't just morph them all away. She laughs.

"Dunno, really. Maybe I keep 'em to remind me not to be daft and watch where I'm going."

He laughs, too, and she meets his eyes with a mischievous grin that rivals his own.

"Maybe I should morph some more, then, since you seem to like kissing them so much."


	26. Command

**A/N: Wow, guys, over a hundred reviews?! feels loved I just wanted to say a huge, massive, ten-thousand-ton thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic, and super mega brownie points to evevryone who's reviewed. The response I've gotten for this has been overwhelmong and wonderful. And just to show you how fantastic you are, here's some more fluff to celebrate!**

* * *

26. _Command_

"HOW DARE YOU, HIDEOUS SHAPESHIFTING, HALFBLOOD ABOMINATIONS?! HOW DARE YOU SULLY THE DOORSTEP OF THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT—"

"Oh, shut up, you daft old cow." Tonks snipes right back at the painting of Mrs. Black, and something in Remus' heart swells at the way she rolls her eyes and grins deviously up into his.

Before he can react she grabs both of his lapels and kisses him full on the mouth, reveling in both the renewed shrieks of the portrait, and also Remus' own shocked sounds against her lips.

Neither notices Sirius clambering down the stairs to quiet his mother, nor do they notice anything else, for that matter, long after the silence falls back over Number Twelve.


	27. Sudden

27. _Sudden_

Before she can do so much as pull him inside the flat, his mouth is on hers and Remus kisses her with such power and passion and intent her legs threaten to give out from under her. She's thankful for his hands splayed against her back, because she'd never trust her legs to hold her weight otherwise. His tongue just grazes the edge of her lip, but he doesn't give her the chance to respond; by the time she registers the feeling, his lips have already moved on to trail a line of searing kisses down her throat. She feels him smile against her pulse, fluttering just under her skin, lingering where he knows she likes it best.

_Gods, I've missed this…_

"Well, then," she stammers as soon as he pauses to breathe, still struggling to catch her own breath, "Hello to you, too."


	28. Hold

28. _Hold_

Tonks fumbles with her wand, fishing it from the voluminous depths of her Auror's robes. It slips from her fingers, and she swears under her breath as she bends, groping through the dark, to retrieve it. Even her wrist flicks tiredly, the wordless _Alohomora_ almost not taking to the lock. But the door opens, and instead of meeting a lonely, night-dark flat, a light glows from her sitting room, and Remus' slim frame leans with languid grace, backlit, against the doorjamb.

A sight for sore, exhausted eyes, indeed.

A warm smile chases the fatigue from her face and she throws her arms around his neck, pulling him close and burying her face in his jumper. She breathes him in, feels his arms around her, and marvels how he always knows, without fail, exactly when she needs him there the most.


	29. One

29. _One_

She makes him look forward to Order meetings, how their arms brush when she sits beside him, the way she lingers behind afterward just for tea and talking with himself and Sirius. But mostly it's the way she greets him, as soon as he makes it to the kitchen. How her eyes seem to light up when they catch his, and her smile widens as she gives him a wave and "Wotcher, Remus!"

He knows it's probably his imagination, tells himself she greets everyone with the same kind of eager enthusiasm; it's just the way she is, that ready smile a vestige of her naturally open character. But sometimes, as he smiles back, he lets himself think that the light in her eyes is saved for him alone.


	30. Soul

30. _Soul_

When he hears about her Patronus, the first thing he feels is the guilt. He looks out, into the kitchen fire, eyes unfocused and vacant as he explains to Harry the reasons the protective spell might change form. When the boy describes the look of her charm it crushes him, weighing on his already bent and weary shoulders, slowly working its way into steel bands that tighten around his chest. They make it extremely difficult to breathe, let alone keep himself from letting on to Harry.

She'd been devastated, but then again, so had he. He'd prepared himself for that. But this…this is too much. He'd hurt her more than he could even imagine. He could never hope to atone.

But somewhere in the hours afterward, set behind the pain and shame, so deep behind he daren't give it more than passing thought, the smallest light remains inside his heart. It knows, even if he won't let himself believe so, she still loves him. After everything he's done, all the words and wrongs, her soul still trusts that always, man or beast, he'll be there.

And just like always, she'll be the one to stir his soul as well.


	31. Last

31. _Last_

"What is there to think about?" Tonks whirls on her mother as she fumbles for the Floo powder, voice quiet and controlled to hold her fear at bay. She can't get carried away, not now. She can't afford to wake the sleeping child in Andromeda's arms. "It's either fight, or raise Teddy in a world that would rather have him dead! Isn't that reason enough?"

Andromeda hisses back, clutching the baby to her chest, fear for the last of her family misting her eyes and outweighing the truth in Tonks' words. "So you're going to leave your own child to get yourself killed with – with that _we__rew_—"

"_This isn't about __Remus_!"

Her mother stiffens.

"Please, mum," Tonks implores, a new fire in her voice as she stares at Andromeda through sharp, anguished eyes. They bore into her mother's gaze, through it, down into her very heart. A heart that knows, somewhere deep inside, that the daughter standing before her now belongs to something bigger than herself. Something bigger than them all.

Tonks throws the sparkling powder into the fire. Green flames highlight the tearstains on her face.

"Don't make this a choice between my husband and my son."


	32. Picture

32. _Picture_

She pulls on his hands, eyes smiling her encouragement into his skeptical ones. He glances at the muggle photo booth and back to Tonks, sure his unreasonable nervousness is amusing her to no end.

"Remus, it's only a camera!" Her words come out light with laughter, and he inhales; no harm in humoring her. He can't help but smile as he watches her fish some muggle coins out of her purse, heart-shaped face alight with childlike excitement, the edges of her lips upturned in a pixie's grin. "Merlin, I haven't been in one of these since…"

She is so at home here, in both worlds, he realizes as she picks muggle money from her father from among stray knuts and sickles, sliding them into the machine. He loves the ease with which she slips from the magical to the mundane. He loves that she wants him there with her, in both. And, though it makes him feel ridiculous, he loves her lips on his even more when the flashbulb goes off.

Whether she likes it or not, he's already decided which picture he wants to keep.


	33. Fool

33. _Fool_

"Minerva sent me all the books she could, after you…"

The word _le__ft_ hangs unsaid before him, and though she doesn't mean to, the way Tonks flicks her gaze away and back sends fresh waves of guilt through his veins.

"They said I was too far along to let me work safely." Her words are bitter, caustic at the fact that now the Order needs her more than ever, and she is forced to wait out the next three months before she can do anything about it. "And since there was nothing else useful I could do here…" she trails off, but fixes him with such a fierce set to her eyes her voice can't help but match. "I did my homework…in case you came back."

His gaze flickers to the pile of books strewn over the coffee table. "About…?"

"Our potential werepup." Her wry smile sends one corner of his mouth to quirk up even as his heart clenches. He waits. She continues.

"How did the books put it, since the werewolf condition is a trait acquired once bitten, and there has never been a single documented case of it ever being passed from an afflicted parent to a child…" Her smile falters even as it spreads. Tears mist her eyes, though he knows her heart leapt at the same conclusion his has hoped for.

"You can't pass on an acquired trait, you stupid great fool! Basic rule of heredity."


	34. Enough

34. _Enough_

Some nights, when she wakes alone, her thoughts run away with her. They take her down paths inside herself she will not travel under light of day, where her personal dementors seem to fester and expand with every mental step she takes among them. They tell her things she'd never believe, were it not for the dark of the hour, a dark that encourages doubt as well as dreams.

_You don't understand._

_He doesn't love you._

_He never really has._

_You aren't enough__ for him_

_You never were._

It's nights like these she'll rise and turn on the lights, forcing away the darkness as well as the thought. It's nights like these she'll sit by the window and stare at the moon, and dare herself to believe.


	35. Bother

35. _Bother_

"I'm such a problem child…" Tonks sighs, picking at a loose thread on the hospital sheet. "Three broken ribs, broken clavicle, a concussion, minor lacerations, and spell damage. Klutziest auror to ever battle her own balance and lose." A laugh escapes her mouth, but the halfhearted attempt at levity fails to chase the darkness from her eyes, and she winces. A darkness, Remus notes, that's been there since that night in the Department of Mysteries.

She blames herself for falling. For letting Bellatrix through. Letting her get to Sirius.

"And now, look…" She reaches one trembling hand to brush his fringe out of his eyes, even though it must be an effort to do so against the pain in her ribs. He's sure his eyes must look as tired and bloodshot as they feel. "I'm making you lose sleep. God, Remus, I'm so sorry. The last thing you need is to be here wasting time on me so close to the moon…"

He catches her hand and weaves their fingers together, smoothes her hair back from her face. He doesn't care how tired he is. She needs this more right now.

"'Dora, I'm not going anywhere."


	36. Why

36. _Why_

Only after what feels like eternity, a hundred forevers of shouting, accusing, hurting him when all she wants to do is cry in his arms, can she ask why he came back.

She watches him. He is pain personified, sighs as if it were his last breath before the gallows. And it hurts her, more deeply than his leaving, that she truly believes he deserves it.

He swallows, and speaks.

"I asked James once, why he fell for Lily despite the fact she often seemed to hate him." He looks away, rakes a hand through his hair as the memory clouds his eyes. She knows it must hurt him still to think about them. She forces her sympathy down.

"He got this serious look on his face, intense. Something I'd never seen from James before. He said…" Remus inhales as deeply as he'd sighed. "He said that love is the most exquisite pain you'll ever feel. And…that once you've had a taste, you can't help but become—" he laughs, a thin, halfhearted sort of sound, "—a bit of a masochist."


	37. Naked

37. _Naked_

His hands do no more than brush her bare skin, as foreign to him as the ring she had slipped hours earlier onto his finger. There is a kind of reverence in his touch, a shyness she remembers from the first kiss he'd blessed her with. Somehow, above the way every inch of her hums beneath his fingers, she feels him hesitate, and purrs breathless encouragement against his lips.

_Make love to me, __Remus_.

As he presses her back against the pillows, kissing down her neck, along her collarbone, she can think of no greater joy than this closeness, to give herself over to the only man she's ever even dreamt of this with before.


	38. Wrong

38. _Wrong_

He wakes to find her curled close in his arms, the thin gold band shimmering on her hand against his chest. A cold rush of fear lances through him.

_This is wrong_.

He was selfish. He was stupid. He was reckless. He was the happiest man alive when she'd let him slip that ring onto her finger.

And now all he's done is condemn her to life as an outcast.

She smiles in her sleep, and breaks his heart.


	39. Wait

39. _Wait_

Music has always helped her think before. Now she needs it to distract her.

But, of course, she is not so lucky. The wireless supplies her with the Weird Sisters, and, at that, the last song of theirs that could ever take her mind off of him.

The melody is soft, halting, played in violin and harpsichord. Even Myron Wagtail's abrasive voice is smoother than usual, flowing through the verses and infused with a raw longing so tangible it exacerbates her own.

_"__And so I'll listen close, and wait_

_For sad, indeed, will be my fate—_

_A human struck by siren__-song,_

_To live a life half-spent, to long_

_Forever for __a love __unrea__—"_

The silencing charm she sends at the radio is a bit more violent than necessary; she can't bear to hear the chorus anymore.

_Is that what we'd been doing all along__Remus__ and I__? Waiting and wanting and chasing a dream we can't catch?_

She shakes the thought away. There is still something to be said for waiting. For as long as she can wait, she can still hope.


	40. Easy

40. _Easy_

He dreams of her.

The dreams are all the same.

_She kisses__ him, laughing, __the__ sound turning to yips as she morphs herself canine. She__ dances on delicate __paws, wags her pink-tipped tail__, urging him to follow__. Her fur is silk benea__th his fingers, but everywhere he touches, the white runs red. B__arking laughter turns into a yelp and whine of pain, he feels his own face warp into a fanged muzzle, tastes the sweet metallic redness in his mouth. But she doesn't run. She stands there still, her dark human eyes watching as she lets him rake his claws down__ the length of her back, swipe__ ruby tracks across her cheek, her sides, her chest. And somewhere amid his assault, she morphs herself human again. Her scent is all the more enticing to the wolf this way, she knows as well as __he__. She bares her throat—_

--and he wakes. Lying among the ferals he's spied upon, transformed with, these past long months. Greyback's pack.

He is no better than any of them. Dehumanized. Bestial.

Every inch of him aches, but not from transformation. He aches because it's easy, far too easy, to live that nightmare.


	41. Color

41. _Color_

"How do I look?"

She trips over her own foot on her way out of the bathroom, but he holds back the puff of laughter when she flushes. She looks lovely, slender frame draped in a violet dress; the shimmering fabric falls like water from her hips to her knees, and clings to all the right places. Her flats—a wise choice in footwear, considering the wearer—are woven through with shining purple ribbons that lace like pointe shoes up her legs. But his eyebrows dip forward when they reach her hair. She's gone an unexpected shade of Veela blonde.

She catches his expression and immediately chatters to hide her embarrassment. Her self-consciousness is almost painful to watch.

_Merlin, she values my opinion that much_?

"What? Too peaky? I look peaky, don't I? I should've known better, purple's never been my—"

He closes the distance between them and cups her face in his hands, his smile reassuring to her troubled eyes. "Not at all. It's just, I've always thought pink hair suited you best."

Her sideways smile makes his heart leap into his throat. "You know what? Me too."


	42. Now

42. _Now_

"You need rest."

Tonks starts as Molly plunks a dinner plate a bit too loudly on the table.

"I slept a bit earlier."

The Weasley matriarch regards her stubbornly, hands on her hips. "That's not what I meant."

Tonks knows. Molly knows, as well. Molly probably knows the answers to every question Tonks feels coming, but will ask anyway.

"How long have you been taking extra shifts?"

"Molly—"

"It's. Been. Too. Long. You need rest! The Ministry's running—No, _you're_ the one running yourself ragged! It's not good for your health!"

Tonks had almost forgotten how commanding Molly—sweet, mothering Molly—can be when riled. But she is neither in the mood for, nor physically up to, fighting. It shows in how she leans against the table, in her voice, thin and defeated, yet enough to stop Molly's verbal barrage in its tracks.

"I don't want rest."

Molly stares incredulously, mouth agape. "You'd rather work yourself sick than—"

"It keeps me from thinking. I don't want time to throw myself any pity parties."

"But…"

"It's only for now, Molly. Only until…" Tonks brushes brown hair from her eyes, voice bitter. "Only until I get used to this."

"You lie, Nymphadora." Molly finishes, and Tonks finds herself unable to meet her sharp, unflinching eyes. "You know you won't get used to anything."


	43. Mad

43. _Mad_

"It's _one date_, Moony! How hard could it be to ask her for _one date_?"

"Just because you used to be God's gift to women doesn't mean everyone has the same luc—"

"You wouldn't know, then," Sirius counters, "since you've never really tested your luck with women before. And face it, your luck's got to be better than mine nowadays."

Remus heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Come clean, Padfoot, what's the ulterior motive for pushing this?"

"None!" Sirius raises his hands, face pulled into the best imitation of innocence he can muster. "It'll be enough for me to see my best mate happy! Especially when you've been staring all starry-eyed at my cousin for the past…"

"I have not." Remus lies, feeling his neck redden under his collar.

"You wanna bet?" Sirius' gaze is level and, if Remus isn't totally mistaken, almost serious. "You look at Tonks like she's the only female witch on earth. All sappy-like with your werepuppy love. And you can't tell me you haven't noticed her staring right back at y—"

"I'm not cut out for that kind of…_relationship__—_"

Something in Sirius' grey eyes hardens, and all trace of jest leaves his voice. "She already knows what you are, mate. Shouldn't that make things easier?"

Remus is silent.

"You're mental, you know that?" Sirius pushes off the couch, strides to the door. "The whole Order can tell you're over the moon for this girl, and you're raving, barking mad of you won't give yourself a chance with her. Just because you've got a furry little problem one night a month doesn't mean you have to sit in your room and brood over it the other twenty-seven."


	44. Gentle

44. _Gentle_

Her Patronus lopes gracefully back to her and she watches it, perturbed; envoys dissipate once their messages are relayed. She's never known one to return to its caster before…

But this one, somehow, has. As if it knows.

It slows as it approaches, noses her hand, curves itself to stand behind her, its glow washing warm as daylight on her skin. She can almost feel the brush of coarse fur against her legs and her heart lightens for the moment. Even though she knows she's just projecting what she wants upon the charm. Even though she knows it's all illusion.

All the same, she softly smiles, and strokes her werewolf's ears.


	45. Chocolate

45. _Chocolate_

He opens the door to find her slumped over the table, head cradled in her hands. She doesn't even register his presence until he slides his palms down her arms.

"Rough night?"

"Dementor infestation at a muggle school," she sighs, leaning into his touch. "No one realized until someone over in Muggle Relations caught news five of its teenage students committed suicide in the past month."

_Merlin, she looks so beat…_

"Then I was correct in my assumption that bringing this over would do you some good."

The confused tilt to her eyebrows smoothes into a sly, if tired, smile when he produces a gold-wrapped slab of Honeyduke's Best from his overcoat pocket. "And here I thought you were terrible at divination."

"Still am," he assures, kissing the top of her head. "Ran into Kingsley at Grimmauld. And after much _painful_ deliberation, I decided you'd need the chocolate more than me."

She smiles for real this time, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Chocoholic." The word comes out a lovely mix of laughter and speech, and brings a light to her dark velvet eyes that hadn't been there before. Her arms slide themselves around his neck and she teases him with that smile, her lips only just out of his reach.

"Lucky for you, Remus m'love, you'll get to taste it when I kiss you my thanks."


	46. Drive

46. _Drive_

She loves spending time in with him, curled up on her couch, content with their tea and each other. These "in-house dates," she likes to call them, nights spent tucked underneath his arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder, are what buoy her through all the extra shifts at the Ministry, through Order missions or watch straight off from work.

They are her incentive, how she keeps herself going more often than not. _Do your job right,__ girl,__ and you can go home to him_.

The feel of his arms around her, his lips in her hair, and just knowing he'll be waiting there for her are all the reward she'll ever need.


	47. Fortune

47. _Fortune_

He has never been a man of means; his threadbare clothing all but announces as much to those around him. To the contrary, he has never managed to climb very far out of poverty, while instead the wolf in him has capitalized. He has been through the worst, known what it's like to have to steal to survive. And it shames him that he can offer her nothing better, after she's given him so much.

She's blessed him with her laughter. Her smile. The light in her eyes. Their mischievous tilt as her fingers slide under his shirt, up his back, through his hair. He can hope, thanks to the woman in his arms.

It is that very hope that lets him breathe deep and kneel before her, lets him say the words that have so long waited on his lips.

_"__Will you marry me?__"_


	48. Goodbye

48. _Goodbye_

His kiss is quick, violent, desperate, over as soon as it begins.

"God, I thought you were—"

"I'm fine, listen, I'll find you! I—" She cuts herself off, snaps her head toward the child's scream that's yanked the words away. Without another word, she gives Remus one last, anxious look over her shoulder, and bolts toward the sound.

Her heart collapses. She knows she may not see his face again.


	49. Child

49. _Child_

"Merlin, I must be a terrible mother."

She looks as tired as Remus feels and then some, resting her head on his shoulder, but that's to be expected. It's the sadness in her eyes as she drops a kiss to Teddy's turquoise hair that wrenches his heart.

"Every time I put him down, he cries like I've broken his tiny little heart, and I never know what to do to make him happy again. It's no wonder neither of us gets any sleep…" she trails off, kisses their sleeping son again.

This time, he smiles. "Love, he cries whenever _I _pick him up, or anyone else for that matter." She looks up now, puzzled. His smile only widens, and he can tell by her eyes that she feels the warmth he meant it to have. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed—" One look and her face tells him she hasn't.

He sighs, and this time it's his turn to kiss her hair. "Dora, you're the only one Teddy ever wants to be held by."


	50. Believe

50. _Believe_

She props herself up on one elbow to take him in, and resists the urge to kiss him awake. The light sneaking in above the curtains gilds his body, bathes him in sun and shadow, rosy dawn playing upon his face.

This, the man lying beside her, scarred and healing, at once so broken and beaten and wonderfully dignified, is her Remus. This is the warm, thoughtful, funny, mischievous, shy, intelligent, noble man she knows him to be. Golden. Gorgeous. Almost too good to be true.

But the only man she could ever imagine her life with. The only man she'd ever _want_ a life with.

----\\////----

He stirs beside her, blinking against the early morning light, to find her studying him. She wears a half-smile on her lips, velvet gaze settling softly to catch and hold his own.

"I love you," she murmurs.

And finally, after so long, he finds he even sees that for himself. He can believe it for himself. He's never dreamed before that anything so simple could be so hard…

But he believes nonetheless. He believes because she's never stopped believing.

_FIN._

* * *

_**A/N: Well...this is it, then. I want to say thank you to everyone who's read this fic. Thank you so much. The response it's gotten has totally blown me away. I'd have felt lucky to get all of maybe ten reviews, let alone over two hundred. Most of all I'm glad you liked it. I know I may have gone a tad overboard with artistic lisence in some places and that the story has been far from perfect, but again, I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing it.**_

_**Much love,  
--Lindsay**_


End file.
